


On Eastmuir Crag (Part 2)

by Zdenka



Series: On Eastmuir Crag (Purimgifts 2016) [2]
Category: English and Scottish Popular Ballads - Francis James Child, Kemp Owyne (Traditional Ballad)
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6287308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone on a rocky crag, Isabel suffers under her stepmother's curse and sings her own enchantments. (This is the second part of a two-part story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Eastmuir Crag (Part 2)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darthjamtart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/gifts).



The crag was hard and bare; nothing grew there except some hardy wild plants that bore no flowers, and one scraggly tree that had been twisted by the wind into a strange shape. Like me, she thought with an odd sympathy. When she became hungry enough, Isabel dived into the ocean to search for fish. She caught them with teeth and claws and ate them raw. She would have wept, if her beast-shape could weep. At least her new form was strong and powerful, able to swim far and dive deep. Her long tangled hair trailed behind her like seaweed. She tried not to catch sight of her reflection in the water, or her claws and finned tail.

Once she thought of swimming far away and not returning to the crag. She would never see her own land again, but at least she would be free. Perhaps she could forget that she had ever been human. But when sunset came, she felt the spell tug at her, and she could not help swimming back. She climbed slowly up the crag again and, compelled by the enchantment, she went slowly around the tree three times, her claws scrabbling among the rocks. When she lay down to rest for the night at the foot of the tree, her hair was twisted thrice around the bare trunk, as if to remind her of her imprisonment.

In the morning, the spell released her and her hair slipped loose again, but she knew it was only temporary. Digging tracks in the rocky ground with her claws, Isabel considered her situation. She could not free herself from the curse, but she knew she did not wish to stay on this bare crag until she died. _Until the king’s son, Kemp Owyne, come to the crag and kiss you thrice._ So her stepmother’s curse ran. Isabel knew almost nothing of the king’s son Owyne. She had never seen him. The stories that came to her father’s house had said he was brave and kind and courteous, but would they not say that of any prince? Could he be kind after all, even to a monstrous beast? She would have to hope so, but she did not wish to rely solely on that. And if he was brave, he would think it a noble deed to slay a hideous monster. She needed a reason for him to pause before acting.

Isabel went diving deep in the sea, until she found an old belt, the leather eaten away and half-rotten. She sang over it, though she hated to hear the deep growl her voice had become, until it was once more shining and beautiful. And she sang over it again, until there was enchantment around it that whoever wore it would be protected from any weapon that would shed his blood. And she stored it carefully in a cave of the rock. But perhaps the belt would not be enough.

Isabel went diving again deep in the sea, and she searched until she found a golden ring, dull and encrusted with sand. She sang over it until the sand fell away and the gold shone out brightly in the sun, and then she sang again until there was enchantment around it that whoever wore it could understand the speech of bird and beast. When she was done, she stored it carefully in a cave of the rock. But perhaps the ring would not be enough.

Isabel went diving a third time deep in the sea, until she found an old sword, blunt and rusted. She sang over it until the steel shone bright again and the edge was sharp and keen. Then she sang over it again, until there was enchantment around it that whoever wielded it with a true heart would never fail to strike his enemy. And she stored it carefully in a cave of the rock.

And then she went to her crag, and she cried aloud in her deep growling beast’s voice. She called to every ship and every fishing boat that passed by on the water, and to every traveller who passed by on the land, that Kemp Owyne the king’s son should come to her. She would have to hope that the belt and the ring and the sword would be enough. She could not truly believe that a king’s son would be willing to kiss a loathsome beast even once, let alone three times; but if she offered him three treasures, perhaps he would listen to her before he struck. Perhaps when he came, he would not slay her.

And perhaps—though it hardly seemed possible—the king’s son would be as brave and kind as the stories said, and he would not be afraid to come within reach of her teeth and claws. Perhaps he would undo the spell, and she would feel the curse that bound her untwining from around her body once, twice, and thrice until she was free--and twisting instead around her stepmother, as all such spells must when broken. Isabel let her hair twine thrice around the tree and waited.

**Author's Note:**

> _Image Credits:_
> 
> Pierce, C.C. (Charles C.), 1861-1946. "Scraggly sentinel cypress tree growing out of the rocky shore near the ocean in Monterey, ca.1900." Source: University of Southern California Libraries and California Historical Society. This image is in the public domain and has been released under a [Creative Commons license](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/).
> 
> Ornamental belt buckle, decorated with a mythical animal and birds. Chiseled and hammered gold, late Han period, first or second century. Guimet Museum, Paris. Photograph by Vassil, who has released it into the public domain. From Wikimedia Commons.


End file.
